


It's a Promise

by 7dragons7



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fornicating in vileblood guts, it be like that sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 14:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14750751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7dragons7/pseuds/7dragons7
Summary: “Hunters have told me stories about the church and about the Gods. And about the Executioners too.” The dolls says softly, the hunter’s hand in her own. “I know many things from their tales.” The doll is expressionless for the moment but her eyes hold so much knowledge and wisdom. She looks at the hunter, knowing that there is a hurt that cannot be expressed through words alone. “Though I admit… the Executioners stories are few. They have a rule, you see. They do not like the hunters. They do not work with them. Or associate. I imagine that any who did must be very good men. Ones who know that we need each other in times like these.”





	It's a Promise

When they met she was covered in blood and guts and only far more superior beings than them knew what else. She’d just dodged some rifle shots and cut down some mad hounds, blood was audibly dripping off her coat from her very recent kills. And he… oh he stood out in his robes of beautiful white and grey. His presence startled her as Eileen’s had when the hunter first came across the crow. But his bright smile at the sight of her was the warmest thing she’d felt in a while and it stalled her blade. 

“Oho! A beast hunter!” he exclaims, looking over her as if it was something hard to determine. 

He loved to talk and she offered what few stories she could in this night that had only just begun for her. Cleric beasts and hunters turned wild. A man in a clock tower raining bullets from the sky as he protects the monsters there and she of course told him of the few kind and not so kind people she’d met along the way and helped save. The red cloaked man in the church. The old woman. The whore. She tells of the sadder ones too. The sick man at the window. The little girl with the ribbon… 

He’s enraptured by her stories and offers some history in return. Places that she’s been told about he knows a great deal of. Phrases she’s never heard before he knows the meaning to. And it’s nice to talk to someone who has not been stripped away by the world just yet. Eileen is tired. Gilbert was dying. The red robed man is nervous and difficult to talk to. But this man, Alfred, seems right as rain and bright as the sun she longs to see again. 

They sit beside the shrine and talk and though it’s for hours the sun never moves from its twilight setting. They say the night is unbearably long. Like it never ends. 

But a hunter must work. An executioner must too. And when you part on the night of the hunt you know it could be the last time you speak. It most likely will be. 

Not for them though. When the moon finally rises high she sees him again. He’s closer to the grand cathedral, near the doors that require a password. Maybe he knows it. She should have just asked him. The doors will lead eventually lead into the forest where great trials await her. Dangerous and perilous but a hunter must hunt. 

At the sight of her he is once again overjoyed. “Good to see you alive and well, good hunter.” he proclaims, his shockingly clean hands taking her filthy ones. It doesn’t seem right to touch him, she notes, though he has slain many as well. A hunter of Vilebloods, he claims to be. She can’t see someone like this taking lives. 

They take this opportunity to talk some more. He has a little else to offer at this point in time but she has stories. She’s slain great beasts of both lightning and poison and an even fiercer one in the Grand Cathedral. It’s tiring work and she feels unbridled exhaustion but could not sleep even if she wanted to. 

“Dark is the night. And long is the hunt. That does not mean one should run themselves ragged. Remember to breath and remember your dreams, good hunter.” 

_ Surely even you still have dreams _ , the hunter on the clocktower had called to her. 

She’s not sure… 

“And what dreams does an executioner have?” she asks, her heart burning with a great desire to know. 

He laughs and it’s so soft and light, unfitting for this world. “There is much I must do for my master. I want to ensure that his dream comes true. It’s the least I can do.” 

They talk a bit more, sitting under a moon that never seems to wane. But duty calls and the forest awaits. 

“We will meet again, dear executioner,” she assures him. 

“I hope that’s a promise, good hunter. May the good blood guide your way.” 

The forest is long and treacherous and the poison is thick and heavy. She makes it through using the last of her strength to climb a ladder out of vile muck. She finds herself back at the beginning, right at the gates of the clinic she’d started this hunt at. 

She finds another way in as the good doctor has not sounded like herself. She’s not wanted here. A fight is not what the hunter is capable of right now. But she does find a letter. A letter that will take her to that castle Alfred had mentioned during their talks. Surely she must go. 

And she does. More fights and ghosts and beasts await her here.  And as she scales this great tower she finds him, Alfred’s master. Much like everyone else she’s run across he seems to be mad. She tries to stay her blade. To speak. But he is beyond words and a hunter must hunt all mad beasts. She slays him and all that remains of him is a crown. Such a spendor it is, revealing the last of the castle and the one who rules it. 

A vileblood queen. The last one, or so she claims. But they could bump that number up to two. Blood is what this hunter needs. Blood of all kinds perhaps. A nun’s. A whore’s. The doctor’s even. To continue her hunt this blood might be useful. But her thoughts go to Alfred, slayer of vilebloods and one of her few friends with his mind together and whole. She would not want to be the victim of his blade. She would not do that to him. She could not do that to herself. Instead she swipes the letter with the castle crest and departs to find her dear friend. 

She knows where the last vileblood is and how to get there. With that woman slayed his mission would be complete. All that he was working for is now finished. He’d be free from the hunt. Able to dream and rest as she longs to do as well. 

All she offers him is the letter at first. The crown of his master and the story must come later. She would not want to keep him for too long with more of her gruesome stories. There will be time for that later. 

She presents the letter with the seal proudly and his excitement is all that she hoped for and more. So much more. His pristine hands, only stained by her own take her cheeks and he pulls the filthy hunter close, kissing her sweetly. 

“This means the world to me. You’ve made me so happy. I owe you so much.” 

The hunter can’t help but place her hands over his, not even able to muster up the guilt of dirtying him. The moment feels too surreal in a world heaving with madness and sick. “I am happy that you are happy.” 

“This must be goodbye for now. Perhaps we will meet again, good hunter.” 

“I hope that’s a promise, dear executioner.” 

They will. Because she will wait here for him to return. 

Though hours are hard to judge in this ceaseless night she knows that he has been gone a long while. Perhaps she should have gone with to ensure that he is well and safe. This immortal queen must be no easy foe. It was foolish to let him go alone even though he is a fearsome slayer who has killed plenty and is naturally far more experienced than herself but still she worries. She can protect him if the need arises. She knows she can. 

The hunter will never be certain no matter how much time passes if she was glad to have come back to the throne room of the queen. She moves forward carefully, her footsteps  deafened by the thick red carpet, normally she’d be grateful for something to hide her presence but she longs for the sound to drown out that voice that chills her blood and makes her bones ache. 

The hunter was here mere hours ago and it was not like this. The carpet was not stained a darker red. Guts and flesh were not strewn about. This was no hunt… this wasn’t even an execution. He tortured this woman, this immortal queen. He ripped her to shreds and reveled in it. People shouldn't do this. People don’t do this. 

_ Beasts do this. _

He has noticed her presence and she can barely look at him. His white robes are more pink and red than beautiful white. His fingers are coated in innards and his helmet… she’s glad he’s wearing it despite it dripping with the immortal’s remains. 

“And it’s all thanks to you. It’s all thanks to my wonderful hunter.” 

He comes towards her and she’s frightened. Hunters slay beasts and this is a beast! If he senses her fear he does not show it, instead tugging her forward, madness dripping from his lips and she’s terrified of being breathing in the foulness that is radiating off his person. 

“My beautiful huntress.” 

He pushes her into the chair where the queen once sat. Her insides and flesh still coat the seat and when the hunter falls into it there’s a nasty gag inducing squishing sound. And then Alfred’s mask is removed. His face is clean. His hair is sweaty and matted to his head. And his jade eyes are wild and without abandon. He kisses her roughly and despite the fear flooding through her veins she melts into it, her own dirty hands winding in the messy blond locks. 

_ She can still save him _ , she repeats silently to herself.  _ It’s not too late. _ She will give him what he needs to find calm. For her she needs blood. For him it’s her presence. She will ease the madness out of him. She’ll put him in the ward with the others and he will be safe. She will protect him. 

He whispers thank yous and beautifuls into her mouth and the words are honey sweet despite the fact that he tastes bitter and sick. His hands slick with dark red blood fuss with the buckles of her hunter’s outfit and he finds it easier to just remove the bare minimum of what is needed for this act. Just as he has no intent of removing these heavy white robes, only moving them aside. 

The act is as filthy as the setting. The smell is horrendous. The sight gruesome. But her nerves are alive so much so she’d have thought herself being hit with a weapon covered in lightning paper. It’s as if Parrl is swiping at her throat again and his claws ripple with energy. Only the dead exist in this castle but she feels so alive. She holds onto Alfred tightly as he brutally plunges into her seeking more from his high of killing a vileblood or maybe he’s expunging this sickness from his heart and body with her own. She’ll take it. Whatever he needs she’ll carry the burden for him. There is still so much hunt left. She has so many more stories waiting for him.  

The release is heavenly and the Gods themselves should be envious. You couldn’t paint a more grotesque picture. A hunter and an executioner fornicating in the guts of a kill. It’s something you’d see in an old painting or read in a fable that came from an ancient tome. The elation of the finishing moment is short lived. The parting kiss upon her lips reeks of something final and definite. But it feels like the madness has passed. She’s taken it from him, this she is certain. 

“This must be goodbye for now,” he tells her, picking up his helmet and wheel from the ground. 

“We will meet again, dear executioner,” she assures him, offering him something from her bag. A crown. The crown of his master. With this dazzling piece illusions no longer exist. With it he will be able to see clearly and find a good path. The good blood will guide his way.  
His gaze falls to it and as he speaks she wishes more than anything his expression was readable. 

“I hope that’s a promise, beloved hunter.”  

* * *

 

She returns from a frontiere of nightmares grimy and filthy as always. Her feet lead her down a path, one she’s walked a few times now. She’s not sure why she thinks he’d be there. There’s no reason for him to be near the path to the forest. So she tries another way. The giants are sleeping and the villagers mad. It’s easier to return to the small church in which they first met. When she first came upon him he was at the shrine praying. He must be there now. 

Her intuition was right. She sees those white robes stained red and pink and she walks towards him. But each step closer causes her heart to ache with an incredible sadness. He’s not positioned right. He’s slumped over. Motionless. Red blood pools on the stones, slipping through the cracks and drips down the stairs. 

Her heads are steady, they have to be, as she flips him over, removing the helmet and seeing a face she knows so well after this long night. This is no wound of a beast nor monster. This is self inflicted. This is thought out. This was planned from the moment he took her face in his hands and kissed her goodbye. 

How long had the madness been consuming him? Since they first met? Before then? After? Could she have saved him? Is such a thing possible or is the fate of all them to become monsters? She holds him close for as long as she dares to, her bloodstained fingers running through his hair, holding his head close to her breast as if she could will life back into him. 

She can’t leave him out here. Where beast and man eat the flesh of humans both living and dead… that should not be the fate of the brave executioner. His robes make him seem like he’s a bulkier man but Alfred is actually quite light in her hands, especially in death. She carries the corpse on her back to the only safe place she is certain of. Let his body rest in a place of safety and comfort. The red robed man would surely allow it. 

She steps into the small sanctuary, her first footstep in causes a splash. The hunter’s eyes adjust to the dark to see the bodies and the pooling blood of all that she had saved thus far. The nun. The old man. The old woman. The whore. Even the keeper of this ward has been slain. There is just one missing. She should have known… 

There is too much sadness in her heart for this. 

She moves forward, ignoring the splashes of her boots and the carnage around her and gently sets Alfred into the chair the whore had been in. Legs over one arm, back against the other. As if he’s sleeping. Finally able to dream.  The hunter adjusts his bangs, keeping them out of his eyes. She sets his hands gently on his stomach. She makes sure he is comfortable. A good position to have dreams in, she thinks. 

He’s facing the lantern for if she dares come through here again she will see him. And he her. And the promises can be kept. 

“We will meet again, dearest executioner.”  
  
That is a promise from the good hunter. 

* * *

 

“Hunters have told me stories about the church and about the Gods. And about the Executioners too.” The dolls says softly, the hunter’s hand in her own. “I know many things from their tales.” The doll is expressionless for the moment but her eyes hold so much knowledge and wisdom. She looks at the hunter, knowing that there is a hurt that cannot be expressed through words alone. “Though I admit… the Executioners stories are few. They have a rule, you see. They do not like the hunters. They do not work with them. Or associate. I imagine… that any who did must be very good ones. Ones who know that we need each other in times like these.” 

“I imagine you’d be right.” The hunter responds softly, her eyes on their intertwined fingers. For once her fingers are clean. Though they always are in the dream. She’d never touch this doll if she were in her usual state. “A most woeful executioner that would associate with a hunter.” 

The dolls lips quirk upward just slightly, her grip on the hunter tightening just slightly before she is forced to let her go. The hunt must go on. “Farewell good hunter, may you find…” She pauses in her usual goodbye, reconsidering her her words for but a moment. “May you find your happiness in the waking world.” 

To love someone is not hard. The doll finds it easy to love the hunters even if that is what she was made to do. To say goodbye though. Each and every time is very difficult. She has had to do it hundreds of times over. Sometimes it is just for a moment. Sometimes the periods are longer. And sometimes, and far too often, it is forever. 

It is always sad to do so. And it is okay to grieve. Even now she feels sorrow over all her lost hunters. But she does not forget to find happy moments. This is a lesson her new hunter will learn too. Hopefully soon for the doll is not ready to say goodbye just yet. The night is long and the hunt is still on.


End file.
